


Fire to the Rain

by Claire



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) RPF
Genre: Consent Play, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-02
Updated: 2011-12-02
Packaged: 2017-11-02 06:51:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/366145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Claire/pseuds/Claire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which they are pirates. In space.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fire to the Rain

**Author's Note:**

> Title totally stolen from Adele's song. Written for the McFassy AU!Challenge. Prompt 63. Space pirate AU.

Michael's buried half way under the sub-engine when the call comes through; his fingers wrapped around a drive coupler and pointedly ignoring Zoe's muttered comments about how she'd be able to do this faster if he'd just _get out of the fucking way_ , when January's voice comes through the comm.

They've been searching for the other ship for what seems like days now, so the _we've found the shuttle,_ has barely faded over the comm. before Michael's throwing a coil in Zoe's direction and wiping his hands on the wifebeater he's wearing, two steps away from the door before Zoe even realises he's leaving.

He doesn't answer the _And what the fucking hell am I meant to do with this, Fassbender?_ that's thrown in his direction, the door sliding closed on Zoe's final comment, the one that Michael's more than sure has something to do with the state of his parents' marriage when he was born.

Passageway bleeds into passageway bleeds into a set of steps that shudders slightly when Michael runs up them. There's a part of him that knows he needs to remember to tell Nicholas that the screws need tightening and that the metal needs soldering to the wall in a way that doesn't mean someone's going to try to go up only to find themselves falling down down down, but he also knows he's going to forget. He's going to forget because there's no room in his head for any thought other than the _flight deck, flight deck, flight deck, found the ship_ that's already crowded in there.

The look January gives him as he skids into the flight deck is cursory at best, her eyes skimming over the grease stains across the dirty white fabric but not giving voice to the comment Michael knows is welling up inside her.

"We've already got a lock on the shuttle," Jennifer says, her eyes not straying from the controls in front of her. "Do you want me to reel her in or--"

"No," Michael interrupts, ignoring the computer display January's looking at over Jennifer's shoulder in favour of the window curving around the front of the flight deck. Ignoring numbers and figures for space and stars and a shuttle hanging motionless between them, caught in the grip of the _Centurion_ 's tractor beam. "We'll go over."

~

Nicholas and Caleb head straight for the cargo hold as soon as they're on the shuttle, but Michael's more interested in what else the shuttle is carrying.

The only other life sign is on the shuttle's flight deck, behind a locked door that takes January nearly two minutes to override, and he's tempted to comment about how she must be losing her touch, but he's only half focused on what she's doing. Half focused on elegant fingers swapping crystals between ports and the muttered cursing that accompanies each move that doesn't work, and half focused on the static red dot on the detector Lucas is holding, expecting it to move with each passing second, out through the escape hatch Michael knows is nestled behind one of the access panels and into the bowels of the ship, and anticipating the thrill of the chase.

But the dot doesn't move and the door finally slides back, the soft noise it makes not masking January's quiet _Ha!_

Lucas enters first, automatically checking around, even though he knows there's no one else there, knows there's not _going_ to be any one else there.

It's not until Lucas moves that Michael finally sees the source of the red dot, standing in front of the pilot's seat, his fingers flexing like he wants to go for a weapon that isn't there and blue eyes tracking Michael's every step into the room. Tracking Michael's every step towards him and not giving January or Lucas any thought, even as Lucas wraps fingers around his arm in a grip that looks easy enough to break from, but won't be.

"Get off my ship." The voice is low and careful, going straight to Michael's cock and settling there.

"Your ship?" Michael replies, running his hand along the bulkhead as he circles the room, deliberately not looking back at the eyes he knows are following him. "My ship now, I think. Along with everything on it."

The spitted out epithet that meets his declaration isn't the worst thing he's been called. Some of them he even deserved.

His full circle of the small flight deck complete, he looks at the young man in the middle of the room. "What's your name, blue eyes?" He doesn't expect an answer so he isn't surprised when the only reply is a snapped out _fuck off--_

"Lieutenant James McAvoy."

He turns to where January is standing, watching as her fingers dance over the computer interface. "According to the crew manifest, that is." She pauses. "Not that it's much of a manifest with only one name on it."

It makes sense; it's a _Tumnus_ class shuttle, built for one, maybe two if you were prepared to get friendly. Not, Michael thinks, that he would have a problem getting _friendly_ with the young man in front of him, especially if the offer was made with those sinfully red lips that should be doing less cursing and muttering at Lucas and more wrapping themselves around Michael's cock.

He doesn't try to keep the smirk off his face as he closes the distance between himself and Lucas's charge. "Well, then, Lieutenant James McAvoy," he murmurs, a finger trailing down one soft cheek, smirk widening as James moves into the touch for a brief moment before jerking his head away, "just what are we going to do with you?"

The retort on James's lips is snatched away by the door sliding open, Nicholas and Caleb half way through a conversation Michael has no interest in as they walk in.

"Well?" he asks.

There's a beat before Caleb answers, eyes flicking to Nicholas's before he nods. "All cargo has been sent back; we're good to go."

Flicking open his comm. unit, Michael connects to the _Centurion_. "Jen, we're ready. Six to come back."

James's eyes widen at Michael's words, widen as he realises the implications of the _five_ people surrounding him. "Hold on--"

But Michael isn't listening, is too busy replying to Jennifer's query about the shuttle they're standing on. "Tow her into Bay 2, Jen. Now bring us home."

The world shimmers around them in a single sickening lurch that Michael's never going to get used to no matter how many times it happens, and the _Tumnus_ shuttle fades around them to be replaced by a familiar flight deck and Jennifer's grinning face.

"And what would you like us to do with the prisoner, Captain?"

Her tone is too amused, and Michael almost calls her on it. Almost. But there's movement behind him and Lucas's hand still wrapped around James's arm.

"Put him in my quarters," he says, walking out of the room before he can hear the reply.

~

The water's cool as it slides down Michael's throat, his ass against the table as he leans back.

"It's been nearly twenty minutes, Michael. Surely you should go and _relieve_ our young man from his wait."

January's got a point, but there's a plan laid out in Michael's mind and he intends to stick to it.

"I'm sure he's coping." Locked in Michael's quarters. Alone.

Reaching around him, she plucks the bottle out of his hand. "I'd say you're making this a habit, bringing young gentlemen on board the ship, but--" But she knows better, knows _him_ better. And the amused tone that annoyed him in Jennifer only brings a matching wry grin to his face when it's January. She's known him too long for it to be any different.

Shaking her head, January's laugh is half-exasperated as she pushes his shoulder. "Go," she commands, like she's the Captain, like she's one of only two people Michael will listen to without reservation.

Michael goes.

~

James is pacing the room when Michael enters, muttering and hair in disarray, and Michael can follow the trails where James has dragged his fingers through the dark strands.

"You _left_ me in here," are the first words out of James's mouth, sure and so fucking _indignant_ that Michael can't help but laugh.

"Yes. Yes, I did." Because it was either that or throw him on the bed and fuck him as soon as they got through the door and Michael wants this to last. Has wanted this to last ever since he walked on to the flight deck of the shuttle, knowing how James would look on his knees in front of him.

But he's here now. He's here and James is here and his cock is _definitely_ here.

Michael doesn't break eye contact as he undoes his belt; the old, cracked leather hanging as he pops the buttons on his trousers and eases the zip down.

And he can tell exactly when James realises what's about to happen, can tell in the way his eyes widen and his gaze darts between Michael and the door.

"It's locked," Michael says, because he's not that stupid and a locked door keeps both James inside and everyone else out. He slides a hand into his trousers and jacks his cock once before releasing it from the confines of the fabric.

James's eyes drop to Michael's cock, solid and hard and a drip of pre-come beading on the head. The tip of his tongue runs across his lower lip and Michael can't help but want to feel it on him, soft and wet and promising all sorts of delight.

"Suck me." Because if Michael knows anything, he knows what he wants.

James's eyes widen further at Michael's command, widen further as Michael's thumb brushes across his cockhead to slick the moisture over his flesh.

"No." Defiance written in every line of James's body and it just makes Michael want him on his knees even more.

"Suck me," Michael repeats. "Get on your knees and wrap your pretty red lips around my cock or I'll get the rest of the crew in here and we'll _all_ have you. Your choice." Even if it really isn't a choice at all.

James quickly glances towards the door, like he's actually considering it, actually trying to work out if the door really _is_ locked, if Michael really _is_ that much of a bastard to hold him down and let the crew at him. If he's being honest with himself, Michael's not entirely sure if he is, but it doesn't stop his cock from twitching at the thought of James laid out, doesn't stop it from twitching at the thought of Lucas and Nicholas and Caleb all sliding inside and watching their mixed come leaking out of James's well-fucked body and slipping down his thigh.

There's a moment where he doesn't know what's going to happen, where he can't tell if James is going to chance his luck and break for the door, can't tell if--

And then James moves, careful and deliberate as he takes a step towards Michael, before he's in front of him and sinking to his knees, his hands reaching out.

But Michael's not feeling that generous, not after the defiance that's still written in every movement, in every glance. Catching James's wrist in his hand, Michael grins at the half-confused look in James's eyes. "Stay," he commands, the tone of his voice reminding him of the way his father used to talk to the dogs back when he was growing up and his only concern was the sweetness of the apples on the trees in the orchard behind their house.

He moves to the chair against the wall, leaving James watching him from the centre of the room as he settles into the well-worn comfort, spreading his legs as he crooks a finger. "Now come here," he beckons, waiting until James is pushing himself to his feet before he continues. "No. Crawl."

And this is it, he thinks. This is when James baulks and goes for the door, and there's a beat, two, when he thinks he'll have to move fast to get there before James does, but then James is sinking back down, back slightly arched and teeth working his bottom lip, before he's crawling, fucking _crawling_ , towards Michael. And Michael may have thought that he couldn't get any harder, but it's not the first time he's been wrong.

It's slow-going, like James has to force each movement. Force it as though every inch forward is a task, like each inch of his debasement a hard won battle, until he's finally between Michael's legs.

Pushing two fingers under James's chin, Michael lifts his head until blue meets green. "Good boy," he says, grinning at the flush on James's skin. "Now suck me."

He leans back in the chair, both of them still for long moments until James finally, _finally_ , moves.

His hands resting on Michael's thighs, James tilts his head slightly as he leans forward, letting Michael's fingers slip across his cheek and up into his hair.

A ghost of a breath steals across Michael's cock, warm and barely there as James's lips hover just out of reach, just not touching. And Michael's a step away from pleading, from tightening his fingers in James's hair and just _taking_ , because he's so damn hard it hurts and James is just there, just there and _not fucking doing anything_.

There's a soft huff of laughter and the breath moves from his cock as James lifts his head to look at him, to just fucking _look_ at him, eyes reflecting bright blue even in the artificial light that floods the room.

"Please--" The word slips out unbidden, but Michael's past caring any more, past caring about pride and stoicism and everything else except getting James's mouth on his cock.

A smile crosses James's lips, softer than a smirk but still looking like something that's edged in triumph. And if that's what he was waiting for, then Michael's fine with that. He's begged before and for far less pleasurable reasons.

"Please--" The word stronger now as Michael cradles the back of James's head. "James--"

The name edges off into a hiss as James finally takes pity on him and moves, engulfing his cock.

" _Fuck--_ " There's a dull thud as Michael's head hits the back of the chair, fingers in James's hair as teeth and tongue and lips all work over Michael's cock, hitting every sensitive spot Michael has and, Michael thinks, creating a few new ones.

Fingers tighten on Michael's thigh as he tugs on the strands of hair in his grip and there'll be bruises later, sharp and perfect and branding James's name across Michael's skin in a way that's more indelible than words. Fingers tighten and James glares, but Michael doesn't ease his grip, doesn't do anything except nudge his leg against James's until his knees part and let Michael's leg slip between them.

He can feel James's cock against his leg, hard and solid, and Michael presses against the hardness until there's a whimper around his cock, until James's hips are moving of their own volition. And Michael thinks that he's never seen perfection until now, never seen perfection until there was James, beautiful and _there_ , with his lips around Michael's cock and fucking _riding_ Michael's leg in his desperation to get off.

And it could be the touch of the tongue against his cock or the sight of James's eyes blown so wide with want that Michael can barely see the ring of blue or the whole fucking package, but Michael can feel it in his balls. Can feel it settling, low and heavy and just fucking _waiting_.

"James--" It's little more than a groan into the air, little more than a plea and a question all wrapped together in a single word.

Michael doesn't know if James hears everything behind his name, hears all the words Michael isn't saying, the ones that are caught in his throat in a knot of want and desire and need.

He doesn't know if James hears, but maybe he doesn't need to, maybe he's never needed to. James doesn't need to hear because he _knows_.

He knows to slide a hand under Michael, slide a hand just behind his balls and press. And it's enough to make Michael jerk and shudder, with James's lips working his cock and the pressure against his balls that's barely softened by the fabric between his skin and James's fingers. Enough to make him empty himself down James's throat, arching off the chair and his balls pulsing as James swallows him down. Swallowing him down even as he rubs against Michael's leg, hips frantic and then stuttering slightly as his thighs clench around Michael's leg, heat blossoming between them even through the clothes they're wearing.

James barely moves his head as Michael's softened cock slips from between his lips, barely moves at all as he leans forward just that bit further and rests his forehead against Michael's thigh.

Michael's fingers are still tangled in James's hair, carding through the now slightly sweat-slicked strands as James looks up at him, catching his gaze easily.

"I don't think I can move," James says quietly, voice heavy and sated.

"That makes two of us," Michael admits. If there's an emergency now, then they're fucked. Except for how January would just cope with it, anyway. But he's not thinking about emergencies, or anything else outside this room. Not thinking about anything but--

"Was it what you wanted?" Because he has to ask. Because he's run through this in his head so many times since James first voiced the thought that he has to make sure.

"Yes," James replies, reaching out to catch Michael's hand in his as he grins. "Although we might have to ask Jennifer to work on her acting skills."

Michael matches his grin, tightening his hold on James's fingers to tug him up and into his lap.

"Also," James continues, as he settles into Michael's embrace, nipping lightly at Michael's lower lip with his teeth, "happy anniversary."

Yeah, Michael thinks, following James to recapture his lips, it is.


End file.
